


Tomorrow

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Series: Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (3T) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Harry and Draco, the dawn is long in coming. (Prequel to "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted June 16, 2003.
> 
> Prequel to "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow." (I suggest reading that first.) Grateful thanks to my betas, Maerda Erised and Liasantana.

_But will my heart be broken  
When the night meets the morning sun?_  
-Carole King 

The sky was red, and rapidly growing darker as evening settled into nightfall.

Harry wasn't sure what had drawn him out tonight, his last night at Hogwarts. He didn't think anyone had even noticed his departure from the Gryffindor common room, where the alcohol was flowing liberally and fueling a manic, almost desperate frenzy. Technically he wasn't even a student anymore—all the N.E.W.T.s were over, and at the Leaving Feast earlier tonight, Professor McGonagall had addressed the school with a grave solemnity the students had mirrored. Everyone knew what the moment signified. Everyone knew tomorrow brought more than merely a train ride home from Hogsmeade.

Somehow, in seven years, Harry had never come out here just to watch the sunset, though he'd seen more than his fair share of sunrises this past year. The nightmares that had plagued him for years had intensified in the last few months, often waking him from a sound sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Too awake to manage sleep again, he'd begun stealing out of Gryffindor Tower to walk the grounds. Eventually he'd found himself on the stony shore of the lake just as the sun began to crest the eastern hills behind him. Hogwarts lay in a peculiar valley where the dawn was long in coming—color crept over the hills slowly, suffusing the eastern sky and reflecting in the lake, holding like a suspended breath before the sun finally peeked over the horizon. Harry sat at the end of the lake, chin tucked to his knees as he watched the shift of colors across the surface of the lake until the sun touched the ripples with gold and he sighed, rising and making his way back to the castle.

After that first morning, it had become a habit—whenever the dreams brought him awake in pain and terror, he journeyed to the lake for quiet and solitude in the half-light of dawn. Then one morning, as he sat in the wind, watching the sunrise bleed across the water, he heard footsteps descending the rocky incline that led to the shore. Harry didn't turn to see who approached, and the footfalls grew louder as the walker rounded the curve, and then arrested. Harry held his breath, waiting for whomever it was to turn and leave, but to his surprise the footsteps resumed and a figure silently dropped down beside him.

"Fancy meeting you here, Potter," sneered a familiar voice, and Harry turned to meet Malfoy's mocking gray eyes, lip curled in derision.

Harry turned back to the lake. "Shut up."

"What's that, Potter?"

"Just shut up. I came out here for a little peace." He turned to meet Malfoy's gaze and searched the other boy's face before raising an eyebrow. "Somehow I suspect you did too."

Malfoy's expression shuttered. He turned his face away without another word, his profile stark against the distant red of the morning sky. They watched the lake in silence. As the sun appeared over the eastern hills, Malfoy rose and set off at a determined stride toward the castle. Harry sat for a few minutes longer, arms propped across his bent knees, before returning to the school himself. The incident was never mentioned between them that day, even while partnered in Potions. But somehow Harry was unsurprised the next morning to hear footsteps again, slow and purposeful. He looked out the corner of his eye as Malfoy sat to his right, eyes trained on the lake and not acknowledging Harry in any way. They didn't exchange a word that morning, nor the next. Nor any other in the month following.

But one morning as Harry sat meditatively in a steady downpour, he was startled to hear Malfoy's voice bark from behind him. "What the fuck are you doing, Potter?"

Harry twisted to see the other boy looking absurdly dry and warm in spite of the leaden sky and torrents of rain. "What?" he asked.

Malfoy grumbled as he approached. "Pitiful excuse for a wizard. Do you _like_ being wet? Do you want to catch pneumonia?" He scowled. "Although that would suit me well enough, as you'd likely miss the Quidditch final."

Harry turned away, his chin at a stubborn angle.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Malfoy muttered, drawing his wand from his robes. "This is why the world needs Slytherins—to save the other Houses from their own stupidity." He murmured a quick incantation, and Harry was startled to find himself suddenly dry, the rain somehow not making contact with him at all. He turned in surprise as Malfoy dropped to the ground next to him. "Hey. What was that?"

"Honestly, Potter. Any child can perform a simple water repulsion charm."

"Maybe some of us didn't perform charms in our childhoods."

"Ah yes. How crass of me to forget your illustrious Muggle origins."

Harry frowned and turned away. Malfoy sniffed. They watched the raindrops beat a tattoo on the surface of the lake, tiny orchestrated splashes.

Eventually Harry cleared his throat. "Er. Thanks."

"Don't get the impression it was some sort of noble act to keep you safe," Malfoy replied without turning his head. "I just don't want to hear your cheap shoes squashing about the castle all day."

A smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. "My shoes appreciate your sacrifice, Malfoy."

"They bloody well better. I don't make a habit of altruism, you know."

"You mean everything I heard about you getting in touch with your inner Hufflepuff wasn't true after all?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Potter."

Harry didn't say anything more, but he thought he saw Malfoy suppressing a smile, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. For the first time, their silence was a companionable one.

The next morning was cloudy and cool, but no rain fell. When Malfoy approached and sat beside him without a word, Harry cleared his throat tentatively, flicking his gaze toward the other boy. Malfoy's eyebrow rose, but he didn't turn. "Good morning," Harry said, eyes on the lake.

"Is it?" Malfoy replied.

"Is it what?"

"Is it a good morning?"

"I…er…well…why wouldn't it be?" Harry stammered.

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy responded coolly, still not looking at Harry. "Maybe because we're outside at 6 AM instead of warm in bed sleeping—or doing something better?"

Harry frowned. "Nobody's forcing you to be here, Malfoy."

Malfoy only laughed, a short, bitter sound.

"Then why do you come here at all?" Harry asked angrily.

Now Malfoy did turn, and it was remarkable how his eyes so mirrored the choppy waters of the lake, themselves a reflection of the low-hanging clouds. "That is none of your damn business, Potter." He turned away again, and his profile was hard, a noticeable tension manifesting itself in his frame.

"Malfoy," Harry said. The other boy didn't react, except to frown slightly more. "Malfoy," he said again, his fingers creeping forward to within a hair's breadth of Malfoy's, but not quite touching. Malfoy drew a breath, but didn't move his hand away. He didn't speak either. "OK," Harry said brightly, turning back to the lake. "So today isn't such a great day. But maybe tomorrow will be better."

Malfoy snorted. Harry just hid a smile and lapsed back into silence. 

Mornings thereafter began with an exchange of greetings as cool as the pre-dawn air. "Malfoy," Harry would say, looking across the expanse of the lake as the other boy seated himself.

"Potter," Malfoy would return, chin tilted upward, his own gaze straight ahead.

They never talked about the weather, about how the dawn came earlier every morning, about the touches of spring that cropped up around them, or about how the shadows under their respective eyes deepened as the term waned and the nights grew shorter. Even so, Harry found he almost didn't mind that the powerful nightmares and other unsettling dreams had become a nightly occurrence. What drew Malfoy to the lake he still didn't know, but his presence provided an inexplicable sense of comfort. Which was odd, because Malfoy was never a comfortable person, all sharp angles and prickly words. Yet even their antagonism in Potions and elsewhere had subsided to an uneasy, undeclared truce. Oh, Malfoy still criticized. But at least it wasn't unwarranted criticism. Most of the time.

Then one morning Harry awoke to the sight of sun streaming through the high tower windows and the sounds of his dorm mates' rustling as they fumbled their way out of bed. He sat bolt upright. There'd been no nightmares that night. He'd slept straight through.

"Good morning, stranger," called Seamus, and the other boys teased him about missing his morning assignation. It was all in jest, of course—the Gryffindor boys were aware that Harry fled in the mornings to escape nightmares, but they didn't know anything other than that he wandered the grounds. Ron had offered to join him several times, but Harry had fobbed him off, saying he didn't want to deprive anyone else of sleep. The jokes this morning were colored with obvious relief—perhaps Harry's nightmares had ended. Perhaps the threat of Voldemort has eased. Perhaps the war wasn't as close over the horizon as they'd all feared.

Harry forced a smile and laughed along with them, all the while his mind in a whirl. He'd missed the sunrise.

He had to exert all his self-control to keep from bolting down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast, instead forcing himself to wait for his house mates, to dawdle with Ron and laugh with Hermione and accept Ginny's warm smile of open relief. When they finally entered the Hall, Harry's eyes swung to the Slytherin table. No Malfoy. His heart sank, and he wanted to kick himself. 

When the Gryffindors traveled to the dungeons for Potions, Malfoy was already seated in his usual spot, nose in the air as Pansy Parkinson chattered into his ear. He didn't turn to give Harry his usual sneer, and didn't even glance over as Harry brushed by the edge of his desk.

They were working alone that day as the preparations for N.E.W.T.s intensified, and Harry hesitated to avoid the crush in the Potions storeroom, finally slipping in to find Draco Malfoy the last to leave. Again Malfoy turned so as not to look at Harry, sailing by with his chin high and his arms full of skullcap and valerian root and assorted vials. Harry's eyes narrowed, and he reached to grab Malfoy's wrist as he passed.

Malfoy stopped and swung an icy glare at Harry. "Excuse me, Potter."

"What's wrong with you?" Harry hissed.

Malfoy's eyebrows arched. "Wrong? With me? Whatever gave you that impression?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe the fact that this is the first time you've even looked at me all day."

"Much as you might wish it otherwise, I'm afraid I don't spend all my time gazing on your benighted visage, Potter."

"Well, you usually spare me a sneer at least."

"Maybe I've decided you aren't worth the bother." Malfoy's eyes had narrowed, and there was a tic in his left cheek.

"You aren't really angry that I wasn't there this morning, are you?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Draco jerked his shoulder, freeing his wrist from Harry's grasp. "Your whereabouts on any given morning are a matter of supreme indifference to me." He turned to leave and Harry grabbed at him again, this time closing his fist on the shoulder of Malfoy's robes, almost tearing the fabric and jerking the other boy to an abrupt halt. Malfoy spun to glare at him.

"Look," Harry said with an odd desperation, "I'll be there tomorrow, I promise."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then stepped forward, driving Harry back against the cupboards. "You promise?" he said silkily. "Is that what you said?"

Harry swallowed. "I…yes. I promise."

Malfoy dropped his armload of ingredients, and the contents smashed to the floor as he pressed his hands to the cupboards on either side of Harry's head. "Didn't anyone ever tell you, Potter," he hissed, "never to make promises like that?" He leaned in, his face millimeters from Harry's. "For all we know, there may not even be a tomorrow." He glared at Harry for a few silent moments, then stepped back and thrust his wand at the broken vials. " _Reparo_ ," he spat, then swept them up and stormed off.

Harry sagged against the cupboards and frowned. "I'll be there tomorrow, Malfoy," he muttered. "Count on it."

The next day he awoke as usual to the burn of his scar, and slipped once again under cover of darkness to the shore of the lake to think. He half-expected that Malfoy would not come. But just as the stars began to fade from the sky, he heard the familiar crunch of Italian shoes on pebbles. As the other boy sat down, Harry gazed out across the lake and felt a smile creep across his face. "Malfoy," he said.

There were a few moments of silence, then Malfoy responded in a bored tone, "Potter."

Several minutes elapsed before Harry could hold back no longer. "I told you I'd be here."

Malfoy didn't look at him. "Promises mean nothing, Potter."

"They're a measure of trust."

Malfoy laughed. "And who's supposed to trust whom here?"

Harry scowled. "It goes both ways, Malfoy. You trust me to keep my promise, and I trust that you accept it."

"The same way you trust that the sun will rise again this morning?"

"Right."

Malfoy turned at last, and his gaze was sharp on Harry's. "Then why bother coming out here to make sure of it every day?"

Harry shut his mouth, started to speak again, then stopped. He turned away, feeling inexplicably sad. "Is that why you're here, Malfoy?"

He laughed again, an unpleasant sound. "And why not, Potter? What other reason is there?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry bit out. "To enjoy the beauty of nature, maybe?"

"Right. And it was only the chirping birds that woke you up."

Harry swung to face him, and Malfoy's expression was taunting. Harry narrowed his eyes. "What do you know, Malfoy?"

He sneered. "Oh, please, Potter. Everyone knows about your insomnia. Finnigan is a bigger gossip than any witch could be. People monitor your sleep habits like a barometer of evil."

"Really? So is that why you were in such a rotten mood yesterday?"

Their gazes remained locked for several interminable seconds before Malfoy turned away to look out over the lake. "No," he said.

Harry took a deep breath and turned also, feeling some of the tension ease out of his shoulders as the dawn tinged the lake with gold. He didn't say anything in response, but when Malfoy rose to leave, Harry reached to touch his ankle, drawing an angry glare. "I'll see you tomorrow," Harry said pointedly. Malfoy shook his ankle loose and stomped off.

The next morning ended in similar fashion, with Malfoy tossing Harry a disgusted look as he strode away. After a week or so he seemed resigned to Harry's now habitual promise, and only sighed in response.

One day in Potions, Harry caught Malfoy watching him speculatively out of the corner of his eye. Harry kept his eyes on his own work, not wanting to let the other boy realize he'd noticed, but watched out of his peripheral vision as Malfoy worked on his potion, slid a sidelong glance at Harry, frowned, and repeated the process. Harry could barely suppress the smile that threatened to erupt, causing Snape to slink over to his table and demand to know just what he was grimacing about. When Harry was too baffled to think of a suitable lie, Snape took ten points from Gryffindor. Harry glanced over to see Malfoy grinning smugly. Their gazes locked for a few moments before Malfoy turned away, frowning again. Harry turned thoughtfully back to his potion.

At the end of the lesson, as the students jostled their way out of the classroom, Harry maneuvered himself to bump against Malfoy as they exited, causing Malfoy to pivot with angry words ready on his tongue. But before he could say anything, Harry brushed his hand furtively against Malfoy's and flashed him a secret smile. "Tomorrow," he murmured, and walked away, leaving Malfoy standing in the doorway, mouth open, as students streamed out around him.

Harry wondered if maybe he'd gone too far. But Malfoy turned up again the next day and never acknowledged the moment in the dungeons. He sat still as the new daylight reflected off the lake and lit his pale face in shades of pink and gold. He never once looked at Harry. Harry found he could not say the reverse.

Later in the day, Harry slipped behind Malfoy in the Charms corridor and brushed his pinky finger against Malfoy's wrist. When the other boy turned at the contact, Harry only whispered, "Tomorrow," and continued on his way down the corridor as if nothing had happened. The next day, Harry brushed against him in Care of Magical Creatures, the day after, outside the Great Hall, and the day after that, on the Quidditch pitch as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams exchanged places for practice. Malfoy never openly acknowledged Harry's surreptitious whispers, the small touches of hand against hand, neither accepting nor rebuffing. And always, always, he was there at the dawn.

A week later, Snape returned one of their final essays written in preparation for N.E.W.T.s, condemning each respective student's dismal lack of talent with a disdainful air. His hand hesitated as he drew Malfoy's scroll. "An admirable effort, Mr. Malfoy," he intoned, and a smug smile crept across Malfoy's face, only to freeze when Snape continued, "and it would have brought perfect marks had you not for some reason attempted to replace 'tarragon' with 'tomorrow.'" Malfoy stared up into Snape's mildly probing expression. "If you do happen upon a means of bottling time, Mr. Malfoy," he murmured, "by all means do let the rest of us know." Malfoy's ears burned suddenly red, and he looked down at the desk in front of him, twitching his shoulder as if he could feel Harry's gaze burning into the back of his neck.

The following morning there was an infinitesimal hesitation in Malfoy's footsteps as he came forward and sat on the shore. Harry could sense the tension in him even without looking. "Malfoy," he said, tone deliberately offhand, gaze on the far shore.

Malfoy expelled a quiet breath. "Potter," he answered, and they sat together, quiet in the stillness.

Now, only two weeks later, it was their last night at Hogwarts. The party in Gryffindor Tower was fun but manic, and Harry had felt a sudden desire for quiet and fresh air and, perhaps, one last moment of reflection at the lake. And so he found himself once again picking his way down the rocky slope toward the water's edge. As the curve of the shore came into view, he was somehow unsurprised to see that someone had beaten him there.

The sunset glowed red on flaxen hair, creating an odd red and gold halo, deceptively Gryffindor. The other boy lazed on the shore, still clad in his uniform, tie loosened, shirtsleeves rolled over pale forearms, robes abandoned in a heap beside him, legs stretched toward the water. Harry paused and took a breath, then forced himself to step forward. "Malfoy," he said.

Malfoy's shoulders jerked, and Harry smiled a little at the uncharacteristic show of surprise. It was so rare to catch him off guard. "Potter," Malfoy replied, voice neutral.

Harry drew closer and stood looking across the water at the sun slowly sinking behind the western peaks, furling scarlet ribbons across the sky. He glanced down at where Malfoy sat beside him. "Do you watch sunsets often?"

He could hear the sneer in Malfoy's response. "Is that some sort of Gryffindor pickup line?"

Harry glared at him. "No, just a polite question."

They remained in silence for a few moments, and he didn't think Malfoy intended to answer. But then he murmured, "No. I never do."

"But you watch sunrises—"

He was interrupted by an exasperated sigh. "That's different."

Harry forced himself to watch the play of colors on the lake. "Why is it different?"

He could hear the crunch of pebbles as Malfoy's fists clenched against the rocky shore. "Because sunrises are more interesting," he snarled.

"But why?"

At that, Malfoy rose to his feet and stood scowling at the sun. "Because I know everything has to end somehow, Potter." He turned his hostile gaze on Harry. "It's beginnings that don't have any guarantees."

Harry frowned. "But you can't know _how_ a thing will end."

Malfoy raised a single eyebrow and one corner of his lips curled in bitter humor. "Oh, sometimes you can suspect."

Harry stared back at him, and after a few seconds Malfoy turned to watch the last flare of the sun slipping behind distant hills.

"It's almost tomorrow," Harry said.

Malfoy whirled on him, causing Harry to take a step back in surprise. "You and your _tomorrow_ ," he sneered. "You and your fucking hope, when you are the _last_ person around here who should be counting on a lot of tomorrows." When Harry only gazed back at him evenly, he growled and swept his robes off the ground, and turned to leave. Harry grabbed his arm. "What now?" Malfoy spat.

Harry tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the taut muscle of Malfoy's forearm. "What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked, his voice calm.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "I'm going home."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"But that's all you need to know, Potter."

They stared at each other, silent and tense, and Harry watched the red light of the dying sunset flicker in Malfoy's eyes, crimson-flecked silver. Slowly he relaxed his grip, and took a step backward. "Fine," he said, unable to keep the accusation out of his gaze, though his voice was quiet and uninflected. "You do whatever you want, Malfoy. You always do."

Malfoy's mouth twitched, as though by a spasm of pain. "It's never been a matter of what I want."

"Everyone has choices."

"Maybe in your world, Potter."

Harry stepped forward again, his gaze dark on Malfoy's. "In case you hadn't noticed, we inhabit the same bloody world."

" _Now_ who's ignoring the point?"

They stood too close on the shore, neither one willing to back away and give into the urge to reestablish the boundaries of personal space. "I'll see you again after the war, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "and then you'll have to answer for your actions." His eyes narrowed. "I'll make you answer for them."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yeah. It is."

Malfoy laughed bitterly. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make promises, Potter?"

"You're always so full of good advice, Malfoy."

"Quite the sage, I like to think."

"That's a matter of opinion. But," said Harry, moving another step closer, "actually, I have a bit of advice for you."

Malfoy's smile was strained as Harry's gaze bored into his. "Oh really?" he mocked. "This I have to hear."

"First of all, you should remember that I always keep my promises."

Malfoy just laughed, then stopped abruptly as Harry took one more step, so that they were nearly touching. His breathing hitched.

"And also"—Malfoy started as Harry ran a finger along the pale, unmarked skin of his forearm—"you should keep in mind"—Harry grabbed the green and silver tie that hung loosely around Malfoy's neck and yanked him forward, his breath fanning against Malfoy's lips, which parted with shock—"that there's more than one way to Mark someone." They held like that for a moment, their faces a breath apart, Malfoy's breathing choppy, his gaze falling to Harry's mouth. Harry drew a breath, inhaling the scent of lake-washed rocks and late spring and warm, clean skin so close to his, and when Malfoy's eyes closed, Harry let go of his tie and stepped backward.

The accusation in Malfoy's eyes was like pain.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cool breeze that had picked up as the darkness deepened around them. "Just remember that tomorrow," he said, and walked away.

He felt bone-weary, but unaccountably found himself still awake hours later, curled into a window seat with the Marauder's Map spread across his lap. It was well after midnight before the dot labeled _Draco Malfoy_ returned to the castle.


End file.
